


Changing Partners

by robberreynard



Series: Asphalt Flowers [4]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Gen, Past Freddie/LW, Prom, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vault 101, awkward teenagers being awkward, implied Butch/FW, minor derogatory language, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robberreynard/pseuds/robberreynard
Summary: The theme is Paris under the stars, the punch is spiked with hard alcohol, and the chaperones are gone. What could possibly go wrong at Vault 101's 83rd senior prom?





	

**Author's Note:**

> The disco ball is mentioned 1400 times I apologize

Lights from the disco ball lazily turned around the darkened mess hall, coasting over sweaty and flustered teenagers. Tinfoil stars hung from the ceiling on string, sparkling whenever the light hit them, and Beatrice had spent a week cutting out a silhouette of the Eiffel Tower as tall as a man to plaster on the wall. The posterboard had pinned on it photos of France, cut out from old books, stills from the city of love before the bombs fell. Bits of glitter, probably not fit for human consumption, floated around in the punch bowl of reddish liquid set in front of Andy, something that likely couldn't legally be called punch.  
Everything looked ready for a party but the guests. The girls sat on one side while the boys sat across, both sides staring at the other like they were afraid to move for fear of how they would react to such a faux pas. For all the anticipation leading up to the event- the girls giggling over asking their crushes out and the boys stoically acting like they weren't just as giddy-it was deader than most of the population topside. 

Andy continuously tried egging them into dancing as he played one record after another, everything from upbeat jazz to slow love ballads, only to win the same response; blank stares and awkward whispers from the 18 year-olds in attendance. All the hype from adults, all the days of preparation and excitement, the promises of it being the best night of their life, lead up to this. _This. This_ was to be their welcome to adulthood, their final dance before they were officially grown, responsible members of society. And if that wasn't a depressing enough thought on its own, this definitely was just as sad;

“Come now, fellas! Pick up your courage and go ask one of these lovely ladies to a dance? Ladies? I-if you want to ask a lady to dance, that would be fine!” The Overseer might argue with that. “Fellas?” Andy hovered over the record player, his timid twitches towards it making it skip and shriek unpleasantly. 

Shiloh sat, removed from the rest, beside Officer Gomez. The older man couldn't have looked more bored. He'd been there for an hour and a half after all, and the most exciting thing to happen was when Paul tripped over his shoelace towards a girl, then scrambled back the moment she went towards him. She shifted, pulling at the seams of her starchy dress that chaffed sensitive areas, with straps that dug into her broad shoulders. She was entirely out of her element. A rare thing for her.

“This thing makes me wanna claw my skin off,” she hissed under her breath. Gomez chuckled, eyes half-lidded and trained on his son. He stood with the rest of the Tunnel Snakes, away from the other bands of men, and only when Shiloh glanced up did she realize he was looking at her. He smiled and waved slightly. She freed one hand only long enough to wave before continuing to do everything short of flexing and bursting out of her dress like Grognak the Barbarian after a roid binge. 

“I know you're not shy, why aren't you asking someone to dance? At least for Andy's sake,” the officer asked. The Mr Handy continued to plead with someone, anyone, please just dance. It was honestly a sadly pathetic display, and she would have given anything to cure the poor Mr Handy's woes. But A) Shiloh Watts didn't dance. She hated dancing. She only came to this horrendous shindig after a month of coaxing from Jonas and good old fashioned Dad Guilt Trips about his concern for her social life. And B) No one danced with Shiloh Watts. Half of the vault's younger populace were intimidated by her, the other, older half poisoned by stories of her promiscuity and the numerous petty baseless rumors. More than that, was A) Shiloh Watts did not dance. If Amata was there, maybe, but she had been kept home by the Overseer, one more petty act of control.

Gomez wouldn't accept such an excuse though. No adults just accepted that kids didn't want to do something, they insisted that no, you want to! You're just shy! You'd have fun if you did.  
Shiloh slumped in her seat and growled, still itching irritably at cloth as she came up with another one; “Because I'm currently contracting a flesh eating disease from this fucking dress.” 

“I don't think Freddie would mind contracting a flesh eating disease from you.” She paused in her efforts to crawl out of her skin to look back at the younger Gomez. He was _still_ watching her. The moment their eyes caught a second time, the disco ball lights swept across the almost imperceptible blush on his cheeks, and he turned away. 

“Ugh,” she muttered, “I told that idiot not to get sweet on me.” And after all the effort she went through to polish him up for Susie Mack. 

“You don't get much control over that,” Gomez laughed lightly.

“Are you actually encouraging me to hook up with your son? You know I'm a terrible influence, yes?”

“Oh, you're the terror of the vault. Keeping this place running and getting straight A's and helping in your father's clinic.”

 

“Yeah, in between all the...” She was going to make a comment about fucking, but decided she really would rather not talk about that with a man she'd known since childhood. “The... y'know. I don't eat my vegetables. I swallow my gum. I'm a real bad kid.”

“Uh-huh. Wouldn't want you teaching Freddie those habits.”

Shiloh slid into her seat until her head was cradled by the back of the chair and her ass was completely off it. Freddie was a good kid- he deserved to get his sweetheart, not the girl that stole him away for a few sweaty minutes in the reactor level. Dumbass. She laced her hands over her stomach and fought the urge to continue wearing her nails any further into her already distressed dress. 

“Well, I need a smoke break. If the Overseer asks,” Officer Gomez whispered to her when, after a few more moments of droning jazz music, he began to stand, “I was here the entire time.” 

Shiloh mimed zipping her lips as he slipped past the throng of awkward teenagers into the halls of the vault. She could hardly blame him. Beatrice, the only other chaperone, had stepped out twenty minutes ago, so he at least waded through the headache inducing music, seizure lights, and horrible adolescent maladroitness longer than she did. She was a little surprised the goody two shoes security officer had a vice like smoking in the first place.

Yet, his departure meant Andy, the clumsy bot, was the only adult left at 'prom'. And he seemed on the edge of a nervous breakdown, or whatever the robot equivalent of a nervous breakdown was. Shiloh sucked at her tongue, clicked it off the roof of her mouth in contemplation. It would be good to get this thing off the ground. This _thing_ couldn't be their last hurrah before they were officially adults. Something had to happen to make this remotely like a real party.

What better time to get the festivities kicked off than when they didn't have adult supervision? Where better to start than her favorite Tunnel Snake?

Butch and Freddie silenced their hushed conversation when she walked up to them, both men eying her up and down, whilst the third member of the Tunnel Snakes (Wally was sick with the flu, or as James had put it “mild psychotic break”) was still trying to fumble with his shoelace. Same as he was ten minutes ago. Focusing on more than one task at a time- both listening and tying his shoes- was too mentally taxing on Paul, so he was far gone from anything they said. Which might have been for the best, considering what Shiloh said first.

“I see Susie Mack isn't getting railed against a wall like we practiced.” Freddie choked on his glitter punch and most of it dribbled down his chin or back into the cup, with more backwash than before.

He coughed gently, not able to bring his attention up from the rim of his plastic cup. “I hadn't planned on screwing her in the middle of the dance, no.” He was about to drink again, only to pause when he saw something in it that made him think better- probably a glob of spit he'd choked up at her words.

“Butch, order your lackey to grow some balls.”

“I have balls,” Freddie mumbled into his cup, as cowed as a man who'd been recently castrated.

Butch's confused and mildly suspicious expression had been frozen since the start of the conversation. Evidently he hadn't moved on from one particular part. “Practiced? What the hell did you two practice?”  
By this point, though it was difficult to make out in the low lighting, Freddie's face was a hotter shade of red than his tie, and his hand shook a bit when he brought his cup up to his lips- damn the backwash.

Shiloh shrugged. “Girlfriend shit- whatever, don't matter. I'll tell you when you're older, Butchy. Freddie bear.” He avoided her eyes, as opposed to earlier, when he couldn't take them off her. She scowled and repeated, “Freddie.”

“I can't just march up to her and ask her to dance,” he finally blurted out in a hissing whisper. “She makes me feel like I'm gonna puke if I open my mouth!”

“What do you mean girlfriend shit, what the fuck-”

“Butchy, stuff a sock in it. I'm trying to play Cupid here.” Better to pawn Freddie off on Susie before he got the wrong impression about their relationship anyway. Though, to be fair, even she wasn't sure what the deal was between them. She liked him well enough. Eh, _feelings_. Feelings were complicated and she didn't like complicated. This was the plan, if she stuck to it she wouldn't have to worry about the terror of _feelings_.

“Alright, so you've still got that whole fucktard thing going on that makes you incapable of this kinda stuff. Understandable, won't fault you for it. S'a medical condition, being a fucktard.” She thought, leaving Freddie to sip but not drink from his punch and Butch to wrack his brain over what “girlfriend shit” they practiced.   
A plan soon formed, as one always did.

“Would you be able to handle an invitation from _her_ to dance?”

“If she was going to ask me, she would have an hour ago.”

“Wasn't what I asked.”

He dented his plastic cup he clung so tightly to it, wincing at the sound of it crumpling loudly. His grip loosened, and it was a few beats of awkward silence before he answered properly, “I might. I don't know, I-I guess that would make things a little easier.” 

Shiloh's face split into a wolfish grin. Without warning, she seized him by the arm and laughed loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Oh, Freddie!” she crowed and hugged against his side, oblivious to Butch's mouth swinging open on its hinges. Not really oblivious- she did notice it, just didn't care to address it at that moment. Instead, she giggled in an airy voice wholly alien to her as she hugged Freddie's arm. She threw her head back in such an exaggerated fashion, she would have been laughed out of acting classes for her hammy performance. “You are an absolute riot.” She walked her fingers up his chest, smoothing a free hand over his shoulder. He was thin, but not without muscles. She hadn't the chance to appreciate the bulk of his arms and shoulders before. Her fingers unconsciously squeezed.

She spoke in a lower voice, but maintained the smile and bedroom eyes. “She looking?”

His own eyes were the size of saucers and transfixed somewhere between her cleavage and face. “She what?”

Shiloh subtly snapped her fingers to get him out of the sudden haze he'd lapsed into when their bodies met, murmuring, “Is she looking?”

Freddie spared a quick glance up to the other side of the room. “I uh...maybe. Everyone's looking. Wait, yeah, she's looking too. Crap, Shiloh, I think she's really pissed.”

“Good! If she's about to blow a fuse, then I'm doing my job right.” She leaned in close, close enough her lips brushed his ear, and she felt him shudder. “I told ya' she was a control freak.” Girls like her only really wanted what they didn't have, or what someone else had. She tapped the inseam of his pants hard enough to make him grunt in the back of his throat. More a smack, less of a tap. “And don't start springing boners in the middle of a dance, Mr. Dickly stays in his fortress for now.”

“I wasn't gonna,” Freddie ground out and tried to rub his crotch without making it look like he was rubbing his crotch. 

“Sorta looked like it from where I'm standing,” Paul said, with a better vantage point of crotches than anyone else in the room as he was doubled over in his ongoing battle against his shoelaces. Butch rolled his eyes and dropped to one knee to help.

The sound of shoes tapping off the floor behind her was Cupid's cue to take a step back, and she did so, before Susie had a chance to ram a shank into her ribs. She wouldn't even really need a shank- Susie Mack's gaze was piercing as any dagger when someone disturbed her carefully cultivated social life. Shiloh didn't need to turn around to know those daggers were on her. 

She grabbed Butch and Paul by the scruff of their necks to urge them to come along to the far table of drinks and hors d'oeuvres, Paul tripped on his still untied laces all the way while Shiloh babbled, like she hadn't a care in the world. Seemingly unaware of Susie swooping in to 'steal' Freddie out from under her.

“Hey, boys! Are you as parched as I am? All this excitement has got me drier than Granny Palmer's breast milk- she making a move?” Shiloh paused in her sickening (even to her) analogy to whisper, making a show of pouring the Tunnel Snakes punch. She was struck with a sudden intense need to distract herself from the image of Old Lady Palmer's tits.

Paul blinked. “Is Grandma Palmer making a move?”

“Oh yeah, she's out there bustin' a hip on the dance floor,” Butch mumbled, massaging the bridge of his nose. He surveyed the scene behind her back. “She's just talking to him. Was this really all you had in mind?”

“It's working, isn't it? What, were you expecting her to rip his clothes off like an animal and fuck in the middle of the mess hall?” She winked. “That comes later.”

The trio leaned against the table to watch the show. Susie touched Freddie's arm and got real close, occasionally throwing snide looks Shiloh's way. Shiloh was sure to look saddened whenever she did, just to make sure the other girl _really_ got off on the power play and her apparent victory. Honestly, she didn't pay much attention to Susie beyond playing to her ego. She watched Freddie. 

He was confident, more so than she'd ever seen and it was quite a display, the way his fingers traced lightly over her hips to rest a hand on the small of her back. This was after a good few minutes of neck rubbing and shying away, but the stride came in eventually and damned if he didn't hit it. His face was hidden in her hair as he said something in her ear that made her laugh. For once, he wasn't holding in that anxiety and fear, and appeared at ease. 

Freddie, the little bundle of neurosis and self-loathing, was actually enjoying himself. The only other time she saw him this way was that night they spent together, and she had been too self-involved to notice then. Looking back, it was the best light she'd ever seen him in. Until this light, at least. 

The disco ball turned and glided over his features, sparking in his eyes and bringing a twinkle to them, bringing a glow to his flushed cheeks. Light smoothly slid through Susie's hair while he brushed a piece of it back from her face. It was downright picturesque.   
Excluding the few times Susie turned towards her, gleaming with that ugly self-satisfaction that made her look like the cat that caught the canary and ate its gizzards.

Around them, the rest of the party began to liven. Emboldened by the couple's display, or perhaps just worn down as the night dragged on, sweethearts inched closer to the one they'd been too afraid to ask to the dance, taking hands, blushing, laughing at inside jokes. Not long before the bodies packed around the cafeteria moved to dance with their partners, uncoordinated and out of sync with the music. Andy was especially giddy to have finally won over the crowd. He began playing a song Shiloh vaguely recognized, something about love bug bites and not knowing where to scratch.  
She itched absently at her arm.

“I think Susie's happy. She looks happy.” Paul, having given up on his shoes, sat on the floor by his fellow Tunnel Snake and the outsider. He smiled faintly when he spoke. Sweet Paul. He wasn't paying close enough attention to catch the smug smirk Susie threw Shiloh every few minutes. She could handle smug, but not smug that was won undeservedly. 

“We'll see how long it takes for genuine human emotion to back up into her bitch glands and poison her with her own bitchiness,” Shiloh retorted.

“Good effort, but could ya' sound _more_ bitter this time?” Butch emptied a flask into the punch bowl, a flask filled with something that singed her nostrils even from where she stood, and was probably burning away the glitter flakes as they spoke. She thumbed her nose.

“I ain't bitter. Stating facts, that's all.” 

She wasn't bitter. Just a little salty. Salt was a flavor enhancer, while bitterness ruined every dish it touched. Big difference.

She huffed (bitterly) and grabbed a cup, forcing Butch to relinquish his station at the punch bowl so she could pour herself something to wash the bitter-the _salty_ taste out of her mouth. Whatever he'd poured in was considerably diluted, yet was still strong enough to burn her throat on the way down. It made her shiver from the taste, though this wasn't enough to dissuade her from taking another drink. And another. And another long one after that. And refill it once she'd downed the first cup. And then another drink, because she was going to get a buzz going even if she had to drink toxic glitter, god dammit. 

A mouse crept up to where they'd camped out in the midst of her inebriation endeavor. A small, red headed thing, fiddling with the bow tied around her waist. Officer Wilkins kid, what was her name?

“Janice,” Paul blurted. He scrambled to his feet, “Uh, h-hi.” She folded in on herself a bit more and smiled crookedly. The awkward girl was ready to collapse inward, shoulders pinned to her ears, but bless her, she was making an attempt.

“Hey, Paul. Uhm... everyone's dancing I thought. Maybe? You might?” Full sentences being beyond her reach, she nodded to the crowd behind them, offering her hand. He looked stiffly from it to Butch. Butch just shrugged with a nonplussed look on his face. A 'what-are-you-asking-me-for' look. Paul took this as the go ahead and accepted Janice's offer. The slow dance was the only thing he was capable of, since he _still_ had yet to get his laces to comply.

The Tunnel Snake and the loner were the only ones left. It happened more often than either were willing to admit. Butch drank deeply, Shiloh made a conscious attempt not to accidentally sync up her drinking with him.

“So, Cupid,” he mused as he swirled the glitter around his drink, “You and Freddie?”

“Me and Freddie,” she repeated flatly.

“Girlfriend shit?”

She made a show of rolling her eyes and chuckled, “You can't seriously be dumb enough not to understand what I meant by that.”

“I understand! I'm not friggen' thick. What I meant was- see this is why I don't talk to you, you twist everything to be annoying.”

“If you're wondering whether or not we were going steady, it was a one time thing, don't get your granny panties in a twist, DeLoria.”

“They're not in a God damned twist,” he growled- not actually denying the fact he was wearing granny panties, just that they weren't in a twist. He exhaled into his cup. “But good.” Clearing his throat, he revised, “I mean, not good that he dumped you but-”

“He didn't dump me. And I didn't dump him, there was nothing to dump we just... it was practice is all. For the girl he actually wanted.”

“And he _actually_ wanted Susie Mack?”

“You surprised? You're his friend, I figured you'd know better than me who he wants to stick his wick in.”

He absently tapped his fingers against the table, voice low. “We're not a buncha girls giggling over what cute boys we wanna' go out with. Men don't talk seriously about dating and junk like that.”

“Yeah you manly Tunnel Snakes talk about manly things like how you're gonna style your hair and coordinate your wardrobe.”

“You are seriously so aggravating.”

“Wowee, that's a big word for Butchy.”

“Look, ya' annoying brat,” he said with an irritated flick at her ear, “All I'm saying is I don't know how he'd... why he would pick her over... you know what, never mind. You're gonna make a big deal out of anything I say and I'll regret opening my mouth.”

“Butchy finally learns to shut his trap for once. If we could get him to close his legs, this vault would be golden.”

“Says the practice girl.” 

He probably didn't mean for it to come out so curt. This was nothing more than their usual game of trading insults. Most of the time she gave as good as she got, and she took no offense, knowing full well she said equally awful things. Yet still, she flinched from the comment. It didn't go unnoticed by Butch. He sipped quietly at his drink and his eyes flashed away from hers.

“...Sorry,” he murmured eventually.

“S'fine.” This was their game. They hurt each other. Sometimes they hit sore spots- just a risk of the pastime.

“You wanna take a jab at my ma? You can get one free smart mouth remark as payback.”

She smirked. “Everyone takes turns jabbing your mom, Butchy. Hardly anything new.”

“Wiseass,” he chuckled.

“Dickface,” she replied, and they fell into a more companionable quiet than the length of silence before. Butch had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth. She couldn't stay mad long at the dolt.

The night went on.

Officer Gomez didn't reappear, and a glance into the hall found it empty. Either something more important had stolen his attention or he was really making that cigarette last. Paul tripped a few more times. Janice didn't mind, she held tight to his lapel to keep him on his feet, content to sway in place. Christine and Gloria sat suspiciously close in a corner, fingers tangled together. Susie made a spectacle of running her hands across Freddie's cheeks and down to lace them across the back of his neck. 

_”Count every star and darling when you do-_ ” 

The song must have repeated two or three times by now, they had a shallow pool of music to draw from after all, but this was the first time Shiloh paid attention when it came into rotation. Susie stared up into his eyes, her own framed by long, dark lashes that brought out the green. She buried her nails into his head of thick hair.   
Something nagged at her, something compelling her to follow their movements across the floor. A sense of being possessive over something (someone) she never had a right to. In that moment she felt a hot ball of lead settle deep in her gut, a sensation she could maybe chock up to the alcohol curdling her from the inside. She wished it was something that simple.

“ _You'll know how many times I've cried for you._ ”

She scratched the hollow of her throat, turned her back on the display. She went to gulp the last of what was in her cup, only to find it empty when she tossed it back, with only a few meager drops to sate her thirst. She'd had enough that the motion of throwing her head back nearly gave her whiplash. Her vision doubled for the briefest second once she righted herself. Brushing what little she got on her lips off with the back of her hand, her nails went back to her neck to pick at her skin. 

“I think I'm gonna call it a night,” she said to no one in particular. Butch was the only one to hear, considering everyone else was off cavorting with their one true love, and she'd had quite enough of watching them all. She'd done what she set out to do, and now she wanted all of it would go away in the seclusion of her room. Like a true hero, she would fly off once her job was done, leave the townsfolk to wonder who that masked stranger that saved their party was.

“ _You'll know how many times I've cried for you, for you._ ”

“Not gonna dance?” There was a note in Butch's voice, something she couldn't quite pin. Not quite concern, not quite disappointment.

She shook her head. “Nah, nah. Not nearly drunk enough for that bull. All this lovey dovey crap is making me itchy anyway.” 

“Aww, you're not leaving so soon, are you Shy?” The voice made her jump. Her nails raked her throat, hard enough she felt it sting all the way up to her chin. 

“ _Oh darling, for you._ ”

She hissed, pressed against the fresh wound, tried to smile past the pained grimace when she turned to see none other than Susie Mack standing in front of her. No one else had the balls to call her “Shy” in that condescending tone. The orchestra played the tail end of “Count Every Star” and lovers swayed over the other girl's shoulder. Freddie looked on. His face was flushed, his lips tilted in a rare smile. He stared at his date's head of auburn hair, the lovesick puppy he was.

“Yeah, well. Scene's pretty dead.” 

“It has been looking pretty dead over here.”

Shiloh drew back her hand from her skin and glanced down. Small drops of blood stood out in stark relief against her fingertips. With a quiet cough, she returned them to their spot, hoping no one else saw the red pearls peeking out of the wound. Last thing she needed was to attract more sharks like Susie with the scent of blood in the water.

“Mhm. Me and Butchy haven't been sucking face quite as much as everyone else so I can see how it might've looked boring.” 

Susie pushed past her like she wasn't even there. In that aggravating, snooty voice, she ho-hummed and began to pour a cup of punch.

“Butchy. You let her call you Butchy?”

“Doesn't make no difference to me,” he muttered with a hand raked through his hair.

“Guess you'd much rather be sucking face with Freddie, huh? The way you were hanging off him earlier.” Susie gave an unattractive bark of laughter. “ _That_ didn't last long.” 

“Sure didn't.”

“I guess none of your relationships last long, do they?” Susie went on pouring Freddie and herself a drink, as chipper as could be. She was practically bouncing in place. Serving as a divider between Shiloh and Butch, her mere presence sucked at the tranquility they'd crafted in this little corner of the party like a vacuum sucking up the very air itself. Butch shifted uneasily from foot to foot, half-leaned against the table, clamping down on a comment.

Their refusal to speak gave Susie all the room in the conversation. “He's still got your stink on him. No harm done, I guess. That'll come off.” She gestured with the punch ladle. Either she intended to splatter bright red droplets all over Shiloh's dress- a relic from an ancestor who first arrived in the vault, and an article of clothing the Overseer only allowed on occasion such as this- or that was just an accident that no doubt pleased her. “Too bad your dad's not here! You might have had a chance at getting laid tonight.”

Shiloh felt her fingers clench at the barb. She curled them into a fist and forced her hand to rest at her side, before she clawed any deeper into her own skin.

“Susie,” Butch rumbled cautiously.

“What?” she laughed in a grating pitch, “I'm just joking! Come on, just a joke. We all know Shy has had her fair share of men outside of her father.”

' _I could suplex her. I could suplex this twig right now and I think they'd applaud me._ ' Looking past Susie, Shiloh grasped for any reason not to clothesline her classmate right then and there, and inevitably, her attention was drawn to Freddie. They met eyes, his brimming with pride. She hoped her own didn't betray her growing irritation. He grinned bigger than she'd ever seen and gave her a thumbs up. He mouthed the words 'thank you'. 

He deserved better than her, but he deserved a hell of a lot better than Susie. Shiloh could fuck this all up for him if she gave in to her impulses. He would thank her down the line if she cut this short. Still. She couldn't do that to him. Not when he looked that happy. Despite that growing ball bottoming her stomach, she couldn't build him up for the gal he wanted and knock him down all in one night, no matter how much she wanted to see him without that harpy's hands all over him. 

“Yup,” she retorted, voice clipped, doing everything short of actually biting her tongue to hold back the smartmouth quips she felt ready to tumble out of her mouth. This was the girl he wanted. She had to remind herself of that simple fact or else she would do something that would make Freddie hate her forever. But her rope was thin, worn thinner with every vitriolic word she endured.

“Oh, you can do so much better than that! That's not the classic Shiloh witticism we've all come to know and love.” 

Venom spilled into her words against her will. “What do you want me to say, Susie? The kid's all yours.”

Susie raised a mocking toast. “That he is. And who could blame him for aiming higher than the class slut?”

“Susie!” Butch's tone was much sharper the second time around, but he didn't have a chance to get much in beyond that. She continued.

“I mean, really. You couldn't have honestly believed- you? When he could have me? I don't know what possessed you to try in the first place. When has anyone ever picked you first?”

Her rope gave no warning before it snapped. 

Her hands were wound into Susie's hair before she could really stop herself, or before anyone else could intervene. No friendship or force in the world could have really stopped her then and there. The movement was so sudden that the other girl couldn't even scream. Her face was bouncing off the table no sooner did the word “first” leave her lips, and she had been pulled back up and thrown a few feet by the time she could manage a pathetic yelp. Her hands clasped around her nose, now sitting at a crooked angle and streaming blood over her big mouth. The solid clang of a teenager's head being smashed into the table was enough to divert everyone's attention to the trio by the punch bowl. The room stood still.

She smiled. She smiled as wide as her mouth would allow, beaming as pleased as could be, and casually reached behind her to flip the punch bowl over. The glass clattered especially loudly in the dead silence when it hit the floor, dumping its contents across the shoes of those unlucky enough to be near the altercation. 

“Fun party, huh?” Shiloh gave a stunned Butch a pat on the shoulder when she pivoted and started for the door. “See you tomorrow, Butchy. Tell Freddie I'm sorry I broke his girlfriend's nose.”

Almost on cue, she heard the sobs behind her and a lower voice ask, “Oh my god, Susie, what was that about?” 

Followed by a hiccuping wail, “That psycho bitch attacked me!” Anything afterwards was lost when the cafeteria door slid closed behind her. Officer Gomez stared at her, moments away from returning to the party. His gaze flitted to the window through which the scene had unfolded, then back to Shiloh, at a loss. His brow furrowed.

“You know I have to-”

“Uh-huh, yeah. Tell the Overseer, throw me in the pokey or whatever. Got any smokes left?”

Out of the myriad of questions he could have asked, his brain landed on, “You smoke?”

“Only when I drink.”

Gomez opened his mouth, likely to ask if she'd been drinking, or _how_ considering he hadn't been gone all that long, but instead just sighed and shook his head. He tapped loose a cigarette against his wrist to hand off to her. She produced her own box of matches, which was probably low on the security officer's list of violations. She offered him the bend of her arm. He accepted and began to lead her towards the rarely used confines of the security office. She took a long drag off the cigarette the responsible parent and sworn Vault protector probably shouldn't have given her in the first place. 

“So,” she said casually, looping her arm into the senior Gomez's with a brashness she might not have had without the aid of spiked punch, “Freddie's probably not gonna like me much after this.”

He didn't protest the closeness. Gomez was the one man besides her father Shiloh trusted to harbor no untoward thoughts about her, and she had no problem with small fond gestures. He gave her a pat on the shoulder with his free arm.“Might be for the best. Like you said, wouldn't want a bubblegum swallowing, vegetable hating, smoking social drinker to end up a negative influence on him.”

So she'd likely ruined a friendship. So she'd stained an ancestor's dress in punch and blood- both her own and that of her enemies. Enemy. So she'd be getting that look from her father when he picked her up from solitary the next morning. 

The look of absolute shock on Susie's face made up for most all of it. As she cast a glance over her shoulder at the party disappearing behind a corner, she could also take comfort in the knowledge she'd made their prom a memorable one.


End file.
